


Pepperoni Slice

by orphan_account



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie, Gen, Guns, Pizza, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What if Jesse pulled the trigger around Todd, that day in the painted desert? What would happen, then?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Pepperoni Slice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totally_kafkaesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totally_kafkaesque/gifts).



> hey!! i hope you enjoy this, i had a lot of fun writing it :-) big thanks to a pal for helping me out with writing some of the details in this!

"Hey, grab another pack, would ya?" Todd asks, sitting beside Jesse against the back of his car. "There should be one in the glove box." He orders Jesse with ease, more than used to doing this type of thing. Fitting enough, Jesse too is used to it, and so he obeys. He obeys, even though he never really enjoys it. It’s not as if he has much of a choice in the matter. Stepping over to the passenger's seat, Jesse reaches in and opens the glove box. There are the very _Marlboro_ cigarettes Todd asked for, and right next to them… a _gun._

"You find 'em?" asks Todd from toward the back of the El Camino. It would seem that he's absolutely clueless to what has just transpired, speaking in his same empty tone of voice. He doesn’t know a damn thing. It's just what Jesse needs.

The gun, oh _god,_ it's _right there._ This sudden opportunity is one he'd never expect to get, and one he'll certainly never get again.

If Jesse is going to escape, it is now. It needs to be now.

So, of course, he grabs the gun, and he turns defensively toward Todd. Breath heavy and labored, Jesse feels his heart ready to beat out of his chest as he watches Todd stand up from the car in a slow, instantly cautious manner.

"I'll take that, Jesse," he says, holding a hand out and slowly stalking closer.

Saying nothing, Jesse backs away in return, looking down at the gun. He is terrified, to an extreme extent; a captured animal, bordering on feral, facing a captor whose intentions are unpredictable and absolutely horrific.

Todd's fingers fidget around, but his face remains absolutely the same, his expression concrete. The man is impossible to read, honest to god, and it scares the shit out of Jesse.

"On the way home, I was gonna get us some pizza." He eyes Jesse, seemingly trying to gauge his reaction and figure out how to manipulate his way through the situation. From the manner in which he approaches the situation, one could compare him to a predator slowly stalking its prey. "Couple large pies. Maybe a six pack of beer?"

When Jesse does not speak in response, Todd continues anyways, still talking his way through the situation. "What kind of pizza do you like, Jesse?"

No response. Todd keeps going.

"Jesse, what kind of pizza?"

The bitter feeling of a sob clings to Jesse's throat. His finger lingers upon the trigger, but in a way so that it hovers lightly, not pressing hard enough to fire.

Todd stands there with him, hand reaching out like a boy beckoning his misbehaving dog. Oh, and it would be fitting that Jesse, in his terror, would obey Todd. After all, he's been reduced to absolutely nothing, minimized. Jesse is Todd's possession, his _goddamned plaything._

Pizza and a six pack sounds fucking _nice,_ too, and Jesse hates that such a thought would even cross his mind. The thought alone cuts him like glass, and it leads him to respond.

"Pepperoni," Jesse answers meekly, beginning to weep.

"Pepperoni, sure, classic. I like that, too." Todd practically coos the words out in a genuine effort to placate his misbehaving captive. Fucked up enough, it kind of works. Averting his gaze and softly crying, Jesse's whole body tenses as Todd draws near.

Todd reaches over, near-successfully having talked Jesse down from that ledge. He approaches, getting closer and closer.

Then, something within Jesse snaps in an instant, his hold on the pistol an unyielding vice grip. Todd notices, raises his hands in the air, more than prepared to keep talking his way through things.

"Jesse, you can give the gun to m—"

Before he can even get all of the words out, Jesse pulls the trigger. The gunshot echoes throughout the vast desert, rippling through the air and reverberating.

Somewhere in the mix of that noise, Todd falls to the ground. His blood coats Jesse's dirty skin and sweat-drenched clothing.

* * *

_It shouldn't be hard_ , Jesse tells himself internally. _It shouldn't be hard to dig into the same ground again._ As he sticks the shovel deep into the recently-dug ground, he figures that burying Todd's body right with that poor cleaning lady should work out. Well, maybe _work out_ is a bit of a stretch.

For a moment, he considers how that woman deserves much better than to be buried with the man who strangled the life out of her. Yet, Jesse doesn't have much time to be introspective much beyond that, nor the state of mind. His tears fall down into coarse sand below, making small water drop markings that fizzle away nearly as quickly as they'd come to be.

This is for the best. It has to be. It has to be worth it — _no,_ it _is_ worth it.

* * *

Dust flies into the air as Jesse speeds through the vast landscape of the Painted Desert. He drives erratically, almost feral, like an animal suddenly burst out of the confines of its cage. It’s his first real taste of freedom in far too long.

Oh, _fuck._ Really, he didn't expect things to go down this way, much less actually _work._ Todd is dead, that dead-eyed psycho Nazi fuck is _dead,_ and more than that, Jesse is free! The thoughts spin around his head in a messy blur of emotions, barely able to make heads or tails of how to feel.

There's a noise filling the air, comparing with the roar of the El Camino's engine. That noise just happens to be Jesse, who now cries out in extreme feeling. It's a laugh, a cry, a call of freedom and fear, and… _fear._

_Jesus Christ. Brock is out there._

The thought hits him like a sledgehammer and he slams on the breaks, bringing the old car to a screeching halt. Around him, dust kicks up all around and clouds the window vision. All the while, the name _Brock_ bounces around in his mind.

He's still out there. The only reason Brock was still alive after what happened with his mom is because of the fact that Jesse agreed to continue cooking for _them._

Brock is not safe anymore, and neither is Jesse if he doesn't think -- and act -- quickly. So, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, he speeds through the desert once more, doing his best to remember all of the specific turns Todd took to get there.

He'll get out of this, and sure as shit, he'll put things right. A rush is fueling his movement onward, and there's a little voice in his head reminding him, _he's free. Oh, God, he's free!_

* * *

Brock's great-grandmother's address doesn't evade Jesse's memory. He knows it like one knows an old song they listened to with joy and love. This is the place where he fell so deeply in love with Andrea, after all. How could Jesse ever miss it? Oh, he simply _can't._

Without a second thought, Jesse heads toward that very direction.

It occurs to him during that drive that the rest of Jack's gang is still out there, too. The thought alone is revolting and horrific alike, but it gives Jesse the extra jolt he needs to push onward.

He'll make sure Brock is safe — his great-grandmother, too. The kid deserves that. Furthermore, Jesse will see to it that those pieces of shit who tortured him never, _ever_ get their hands on the Cantillo family again.

After nightfall, Jesse arrives at their home. He knocks against the door, _loudly,_ to ensure that he is heard. Fortunately enough, Andrea's grandmother answers the door quite quickly. She looks to Jesse with a mixture of confusion and horror. Maybe it's warranted, but it still causes a great ache in Jesse's heart.

 _"Dios mío,_ what are you doing here at this hour?" She's clearly on the defense as she looks over to Jesse, seeing the badly damaged individual that he is and reacting with unsettlement. Recognition begins to set in quickly as she looks over his scarred, bedraggled features. "Jesse...?" Her voice is faint, shocked.

Thank goodness, she recognizes him. That's one step closer to where Jesse needs to be.

"Okay, look. I am — so, _so_ sorry to bust in here at this hour. I know how this looks, but…" As Jesse speaks, he can see a look of discomfort and even _fear_ on the older woman's face. Still, he continues with even more urgency. "I'm desperate, yo, and I _need_ you to listen. Y-- you and Brock's lives are in danger."

"In danger?" Brock's great-grandmother replied, holding her hands above her heart. Judging by her demeanor, she's very cautious, apprehensive. "What is this about?" For a moment, her breath seems to catch in her throat. "Is this… is this about Andrea?"

The question instantly brings great pain to Jesse and he shudders. "Yes." He watches the way this woman, _Andrea's grandmother,_ reacts, her face contorting to something noticeably upset. Against his own anxiety, Jesse continues. "It's about the men who…"

Oh, he cannot even begin to say it. Mrs. Cantillo's posture stiffens. "Do you have something to do with this?"

By telling the truth, Jesse riske a lot. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he shakily responds. "I'm so sorry." It's all he can really get out, guilt written all over him.

Visibly distraught, Mrs. Cantillo puts a hand upon her mouth, digits trembling. "Do I…Do I need to call the police?"

"No, no. Not at all," Jesse responds immediately, not wanting to call any attention to him or the family. Not yet, at least — and not in a way that the goddamn Nazis would notice. "Look, I have— I have money."

Money he'd stolen from Todd, that is. It's clean, untraceable. Found deep in the same glove box that Jesse had grabbed the gun from. Urgently, Jesse holds the wad of cash out to the woman, having taken it out of his pocket. She is reluctant to take it. In fact, she's reluctant overall and seems quite ready to call the police.

"I know it isn’t much, and I… I know how this sounds," Jesse continues, his voice edging on pleading. His desperation is obvious as ever. "But please, _please._ Take this money, and use it to get yourself and Brock somewhere safe. There's easily ten grand in here, and it… It should be enough to last you until this blows over, and if it’s not, I can try to help you out in any other way I can. I am _begging_ you to do this, for — for both of your safety."

Jesse will _not_ let what happened to Andea happen again, not to Brock and not to his great-grandmother. Christ, nobody deserves that shit.

“Jesse…” he hears Mrs. Cantillo start, her voice suddenly softer in a tone that makes him all the more emotional. She’s looking over him with a sad, sullen, maternal kind of gaze. “What happened to you? Your face, it…” Amidst speaking, she can’t seem to finish her sentence, but Jesse knows well what’s going on. Her eyes are on his scars on the damage that has been done to him. He knows that the woman has had reservations about him in the past; when he first met Andrea, he could recall the way she was certainly displeased to see him and Andrea together. It made sense, really, though he hadn’t thought particularly deeply about it, most of the time.

Now, though, there is something different in her gaze. It would seem that Mrs. Cantillo has a streak of compassion for Jesse.

To that, Jesse struggles to answer. “The men who… The men who hurt your granddaughter, they’re after me. So much of what happened is because of me, and I’m… I’m so sorry. Like, I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am.” Running hands down his face, he trembles as he speaks. “They’ve been keeping me in a cage, and they knew about Brock and Andrea, and… _God_ , they told me that they’d keep Brock safe if I did whatever they wanted.”

Mrs. Cantillo is wordless, mouth agape as she listens to the horror story that is Jesse’s recent life. Perhaps she’s not sure what to make of it. That’d make two of them.

“I got a chance to escape, Mrs. Cantillo, but these men are still out there, and I don’t even want to risk it with you and Brock.”

Some part of her must understand what's going on. Mrs. Cantillo looks over Jesse, and he gets the impression that she is a kind woman who's perhaps been through a lot. Certainly, she is wise and has an idea of what to do, knows of the danger that could ensue. She gingerly accepts the offered cash.

"Jesse, if I do this, will we be safe? Truly?"

She's willing to believe him, it seems, and that's a good sign. Jesse nods his head quickly. "Yes. I promise. _Just…_ get far away, okay? Out of ABQ, maybe stay with some relatives out of state or something, if you can. Please, I need to know you'll be safe. And if you — if you need to call the police, you can."

"I won't speak a word of you being here," she promises in a kind way that makes Jesse's eyes well up with fresh tears all over again. "If this is to protect us, and you are to be trusted, I'll do all I can to keep you safe as well." Giving him an understanding look, Mrs. Cantillo speaks it in a manner so genuine that Jesse feels deep in his heart.

"Thank you," Jesse rasps out in response, wiping tears away as they spill down his dirty cheeks. "Be safe. I trust that you'll do the right thing, and…"

Trailing off, he fights to hold back an emotional sob. In the nearby distance, from inside the house, he can hear the faint sound of what must be Brock playing video games. The sound of it tugs at his heartstrings and makes him feel emotions indescribable by words. Deeply, he yearns to go inside, to enter their home and find Brock and scoop him up into his arms in the biggest bear hug ever. Yet, the wish alone feels distant and unrealistic, like he’s already done too much treading on the lives of these poor people. They deserve better.

"Tell Brock I said _hi,_ okay? That kid means everything to me."

Brock's great-grandmother nods. "I will, Jesse."

It's tearfully that Jesse parts ways, and he makes his way back to the El Camino, driving off. A long stretch of road marks the path for his escape, and from here, it's up to Jesse where he goes. This time, he won't be letting the universe take him.

This time, he decides his fate, and it certainly won't be one with Todd in the picture.


End file.
